The Dragon Reborn Second Chances
by Raz0rL3af
Summary: Post battle city. Blue eyes white dragon was the most powerful card in all of duel monsters, according to some sources. She was not one to be defeated easily, and her reincarnation would retain that drive and fight, and perhaps catch the eye of a certain CEO. But could love fix all inner demons? (Not your everyday Kisara interpretation.)
1. Step One

hello! this is my first fan fiction! please r&amp;r, i would love to hear your feedback! i own nothing but the plot. see end for notes. thanks! ~raz0r

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**Chapter I: One Step at a Time**

She wasn't special in any way that she felt. Though she was tall for her age, and lean to an extreme with fair hair and eyes. But when she looked in the mirror, she never saw why her mother told her how _special_ she was. All she saw was herself, what she had always been, and what she would always be: a freak. Her pallid skin was so light she had to wear sunscreen even in winter; moisture twice everyday and long gave up on finding a foundation that would match her. It wasn't an issue of her skin being too olive or too pink, rather it seemed the undertone was almost blue. Just like her eyes, almost too blue. Her adoptive mother told her that they were a clear sky, a perfect day; rain held in the clouds before it fell. But to her, they seemed like painted buttons on a doll from some scary movie, more artificial than endearing. And her hair, her security blanket, her way to hide from on-looking, eyes was near as pale as her skin, with the same odd blue tinge. It was white in good days, and shimmered periwinkle in sunlight.

The doctors said it wasn't albinism, or any form of vitiligo, that it was just an extremely uncommon genetic mutation probably carried down from her birth parents. They didn't have a name for it, and have never seen anything like it before. "A unique specimen," they had called her, and she would never forget that, or forgive it. Strangers cursed her forever with this abnormal appearance and social barrier. She had few friends, and fewer family. Her mother had adopted her as a baby, with no father figure, and no siblings, only an estranged aunt who only came to see them on holidays. It was rather hard for an already odd-looking outcast to find someone to pay attention to her, when those who were required to by blood were either non-existent or non relevant. Her own parents had given her up.

Kids would laugh at her on the playground. Ever since she could remember, they would call her names and single her out for her appearance, despite her best efforts at befriending them. It didn't matter how many times she changed schools, it was the same everywhere, and at all ages in one way or another. The laughing and name-calling may have stopped, but the discriminatory whispers and note passing ensued. The odd looks in the locker room, the way everyone avoided her glance. By now she was used to it, being the radioactive neon spark in the sea of normality that surrounded her.

She had two options, and only two options: get tough or give up. Her mother told her that no matter how people treated her to keep her head up. To keep her dignity and her pride and never retaliate. But that didn't work for her, not at any age or social situation. The mean drawings in her locker, the biohazard stickers slapped all over her gym bag, the graffiti on her mailbox. She learned to steel herself to it, to ignore and move on. Her skin hardened into marble, and she became a goddess above all of the nonsense. She became stone and sapphire unable to be touched by the words and actions of those around her. Her attitude began to reflect her inner workings, and no longer did she blush when people stared, she eyed them right back, daring them to say something. She was sharp as obsidian and hard as alabaster. She was an Alantian princess sunk deep into the sea, an alien explorer left on earth. She was Clark Kent, the last unicorn: Amalthea; she was Rei Ayanami, pilot of an evangelion. Books and movies were her friends, dreams were her lovers, she needed _no one_. She feared no one, no one would could or would touch her. Her bite was venom and the raging storm in her eyes breed white lightning to strike down her enemies. She was a goddess, a warrior a queen, and nothing less.

But when her mother died, three days before she was to start school at domino high, Kisara faltered. She stared at herself, naked as her name day in the mirror, criticizing every scar, each bruise, all the veins that stood out against translucent skin. Her ribs were too visible her muscles too lean, her eyes too big with dark blue bags under them from lack of sleep. She wished they were puffy, she wished that they were red, but no matter what the tears wouldn't come.

Mom couldn't really be gone, it just wasn't possible; she was so strong. She had raised her alone. Mom juggled two jobs when Kisara was really young, and then her career took off and she worked everyday at least eight hours into her mid sixties. There just wasn't a way that someone like her, someone as strong as mom could _die_. Minami Hayashi was a self-made woman, unstoppable, invincible. She was the one who had been Kisara's rock, her shoulder to cry on and her constant supporter. She whispered the soothing words into her ears when she had nightmares, held her hand while she taught her to cross the street safely, always reminding her not to look at her feet, to keep her head up. _Keep your head up_.

She was mom. And moms' don't die. They didn't leave their children. They don't abandon those who needed them still. It wasn't fair, it wasn't ok, it wasn't _right_. So anger filled the void of loss, and anger would not allow her tears.

Anger was an old friend, her default after years of learning to deal with the gawkers and the bullying. She became her heroines and heroes when she didn't give into sadness, and when she couldn't be her own hero, it was her paperbacks or laptop that comforted her. Learning was intoxicatingly easy for her, and soothing, something to think of other than her miserable blue existence. That's what lead her to creating, and what drew her at Domino High. They called her a prodigy, a visionary, or some other elaborate adjective that was more flattery than fact. It would have been easy for her to correct them on their usage of the words, but instead she smiled and accepted. The school wasn't too far, and their digital media production department was unrivaled in the east.

She wanted nothing more than to get into the field of game design, coding made sense to her and lulled her maternal need to fix things. Modeling soothed her unconscious longing for touch, the polygons making up for lack of human interaction. The emersion technology she was working on, a full "virtual dive system" would make her fantasy worlds a reality. No longer would her appearance seem so odd if she could build her own world. If she could get through school and build herself up, then she could hide behind the walls in her office for the rest of her carrer. In her hopeful future, she would have underlings to run errands and could work from home eventually. She would be rich, famous and utterly above the ever-present bullying. No one bullied rich people, and when she had enough money she could live without the rest of the world.

But first she had to climb the stairs, one by one. And each one was harder than the next, as trite as that sounded in her mind. High school, real high school. Not cram school, or testing out of classes, but real actual seven-thirty am to two-thirty pm five days a week with required courses and obscene uniforms high school. She shuddered at the thought, shaking herself out of her thoughts and pulled on her undergarments before putting the aforementioned tragedy of an outfit on.

Minami had been a fashion designer, which might have had an effect on her adopted daughter's love of design, or it could have been a mere coincidence. But what was for sure is that despite her odd coloring, Kisara was always well dressed. And pink was not her color. The azure blue pleated skirt was too short for her liking but the bowtie seemed to be the most offensive object, adding a clown-like contrast to the pink jacket as she clipped it under her collar. A clip on bowtie, she sneered inwardly. At least she could pick her own shoes, though it was hardly a saving grace for nothing could save knee high white socks. Glaring at her reflection in the mirror and trying not to focus on how the pink made her skin seem to glow with extra unearthly vigor, she chose some simple silver earrings and began to brush out her hair, snorting as it seemed to shine to spite her.

Grabbing her bag and keys she glanced down before heading out the door to catch the subway at this unholy hour of six in the morning, catching her mother's necklace out of the corner of her eye. She hesitantly ran a finger along the curved silver filigree dragon, wrapped around a shining blue stone. It rest where mom had left it, on the table near the door where they would unload change and purses, and kick shoes off beneath. Her mom had the necklace ever since she could remember, and whenever asked about it she simply responded it was a reminder of her daughter. Sure the temper fit her, but an alien or ghost would have been more appropriate, but much less fashionable. Despite herself, Kisara smiled, pulling herself back to reality and closing the door to the flat that now belonged to her. The walk to the elevator was quick, and she almost didn't feel the tears running down her face until the wind of the outside city struck her, chilling them instantly.

One step at a time, just like mother. Her knuckle nearly tore the fragile skin under her eyelids as she forced the tears away, not wanting her eye makeup to run.

One step at a time.

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Thanks for reading! this is an A/U set after battle city with the intent to create a strong unique Kisara.


	2. Same old story

(more character development and backstory, but getting to the point and plot which is all I own. please r&amp;r ~raz0r

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**Chapter Two: same as ever.**

It took her way longer than she thought to find her homeroom, and after scurrying around, running up and down hallways she found it; room 404 on the fourth freaking floor all the way in the back hallway. It had to be the crowds earlier that had blocked her view. At 5'8 she generally didn't have a problem following directions, as long as they were listed in places where you could see. Not on damnable waist high placards next to heavy wooden doors that made horrible loud creaks when you attempted to stealthily pushed them open. Cringing at the sound she walked in to find the room crowded and loud, no one even glancing up to see her sneaking in late. There was no teacher in sight; regardless of the fact class was to start within 15 minutes. Awkwardly shuffling her side bag she pushed pale blue strands behind one ear, quickly scanning the room and its inhabitants to find a suitable seat.

There was a group of girls in their flattering fuchsia talking and giggling amongst each other near the front left, their subject matter lost to Kisara in the noise. Another group of guys and one girl crowded around a duel monsters game between a tall blonde teen and a shorter kid with some of the weirdest hair she'd ever seen; spikey blonde bangs with black tipped-pink covering the rest of his head. Punk, she guessed, wasn't dead at Domino High. They held down the central rows, and the right where filled with more guys chatting idly, and smaller groups of what she assumed to be the less popular girls. In her experience, the popular ones were always ass kissers, and ass kissers sat right in front of the teacher.

She eyed the back row and licked her lips, making quiet and quick footsteps towards it. Always it was the safe haven; no gum in your hair or pokes from a pencil. The walls were her allies in three hundred and sixty degree battle. Only one person sat in the very back row, and he hid behind a mop of brown hair and a laptop screen, his fingers ticking away at keys. The gang of giggle-girls, right in front of teacher's desk kept glancing at him and then returning to their conversation. A good two rows of seats separated them from him, and spaced out evenly seemed to be the other tropes of high school; some jocks, some nerds and a couple of what she would label "delinquents." Though she doubted they were actually criminal and more just asinine pranksters.

Her purposeful strides ended her at the corner desk, one wall to her back and another to her right, in the last row. She slipped into the seat and slid her bag down by her feet, crossing long legs and then pulling at the hem of her skirt in disgust, trying to make it longer in vain. _Mind your face._ Her mother's voice whispered, as Kisara had a terrible habit of wearing her emotions like accessories. Dropping the frown she pulled out her notebook from her bag and her cell from her jacket pocket and began to prepare for the rest of the day. Her mind was still slightly buzzing, and the adrenaline pumping through her system from her frantic flight to find the room still lingered. Perhaps that's why she didn't notice the teacher walk in, or the stares from the giggle-girls. Or the quiet muttering of the game-geeks (who was she to label them geeks? She loved games just as much).

Tapping lightly she put her schedule into her phone, noting the room numbers by each class. She jotted down ideas for new monsters to model in 3d later, though she knew soon she'd be working from reference she still liked to practice with her own creations. It was fun, and though sometimes she'd sneak in some kind of fanart it was mainly original. At least for now; she did have an interview on Saturday as a modeler for a new duel monsters game that was being created by the Kaiba Corporation. Their online add seemed to have some interesting technology she'd like to get a closer look at, and though she wasn't as familiar with duel monsters as some other fandoms it seemed to be blowing up lately. If she could land it, perhaps it would be a step on her mental later to success.

A loud "Class!" caught her attention and she looked up, immediately angry with herself for not being more perceptive. Everyone had settled peacefully into their seats with their full attention spent on the man standing in front of his desk. His name placard said E. Hong and he seemed to be midway through thirty. Shoving her cellphone into her pocket and cursing inwardly she crossed arms across her chest in her usual standoff manner, ready for battle. "Welcome to another exciting year at Domino High and congratulations on making it to junior year, especially you Wheeler," Mr. Hong said and the class laughed in unison at the blonde boy who had been facing off against the punk kid in duel monsters.

"Heeeeya!" was all he retorted with, smiling easily to mirror all his surrounding friends.

"Calm down Wheeler, it wasn't just you who passed with the skin of your teeth." He leaned on his desk and grabbed a stack of papers, handing them to the giggle girl nearest the front to pass along to the rest of the class. "I'm pleased to announce that despite your best effort we are still ranked among one of the highest scoring schools and our reputation for excellence is unmarred. Here is an updated list with a few more classes the school has added for those looking to expand their horizons in different ways. If you wish to choose any of these, inform your councilor immediately and we will switch you if possible…." Kisara suddenly felt her mouth dry up. She was two seats behind the nearest other student, and the only other person in her row was at the exact opposite ten seats away, fingers still flickering over keys in a zen-like state. Someone was going to hand her the paper, someone was going to pay attention to her. It was going to happen, like it did every year ever. The stack grew nearer and she felt her hands clench into a fists under her arms in preparation.

"…..I'd like to welcome our new transfer student," Mr. Hong's voice drifted back into consciousness and her head flicked up to the professor. No, no, no. The teachers should know not to point her out, she had transferred to three different schools in elementary and everyone just let her slide like she was just another kid in another class. It said so in her record all the problems she had experienced—all the bullying and councilor's meetings. It specifically stated to draw as little attention as—

"Miss Kisara Hayashi who recently transferred here from Waseda. Hello Kisara." His lips curled into a smile and her pulse beat in her temple, her nails digging into her palms as every head in the room turned to look at her. She watched it like a virus, spreading from one face to another until it infected them all. Her face was controlled, her body still and absolute quiet lingered in the air. And lingered, even the typing of her row counterpart had stopped. Her eyes flicked to him, assuming another loner at least would be somewhat of an ally and saw he was staring at her with drawn together brows and a frown so intense it put hers to shame. Quickly she looked back to Mr. Hong, and opened her mouth willing out words but finding none.

"..…Hello" she squeaked said finally, her voice coming out rusty and unpracticed. She couldn't remember the last conversation she had that wasn't between her and herself in her head. It had to have been at least three days, maybe two, if you counted the funeral, but she had done more nodding than speaking that day.

A strained smile and breath of relief as Mr. Hong nodded to her and then began addressing the class again about testing scores and some other nonsense about their futures. Most of the looks turned back around, surprisingly faster than she had thought. The punk kid and the blonde kept glancing back, along with their other friends. One had spiked brown hair, another, the only girl, had a short brown bob with pretty blue eyes and a smile when she faced Kisara. Not a fake one like Mr. Hong but a real smile. A snarl under her breath and a curled lip as Kisara spotted someone who would try to befriend her later, someone who would make it a point to try to make her feel socially included. It hadn't worked before, and sooner than later Kisara would make her regret it.

The giggle girls were whispering to each other as soon as gave them over to study time, or whatever homeroom was for. Her hair still stood on end and she still knew someone was still watching, like her six sense, her curse granted her awareness of other eyeing her oddity; she could feel it. Her eyes shot around and she curled and uncurled her hands, fingernails digging red half moons into her palms.

Idle chatter returned, and she closed her eyes, focusing hard on the scratching of a pencil, turning of pages and the clicking of a calculator as she tried to calm herself. Yet, no now-familiar clicking of keys, her eyes shot up and she caught him, still staring at her from ten seats away. The giggling girls were whispering furiously, and no longer giggling, their frowns at the laptop boy now turned to her with angry curiosity. She waited for him to break his stare, her eyebrows lowered equally as far in contest. Fighting her instinct to snarl at him with everything inside her she challenged him with ragingly clear blue eyes, glaring into their cold cobalt ones with vigor. Inwardly she seethed and screamed and relived being provoked and pointed at when his eyes refused to break contact. With all the new fashions, with all the cosplayers, and the harajuku streetwalkers she really wasn't _that _different. The lie emboldened her and she spat a fiery "….What?" which came out like a hiss as it whispered through clenched teeth.

He blinked finally and seemed to realize himself. He said nothing but simply turned back to his computer and began typing again. A small part of her cheered internally, score one for the freak. But then the swell in her chest felt tighter more than it did relieving as she truly looked at him. He was taller than her with lean muscles obvious under his fitted blue jacket. It was buttoned to the top, opposed to almost every other boy in the class who had theirs in some sort of open or half buttoned fashion. His pants were pleated and the jacket looked pressed. His fingers were long and slender, frustratingly mesmerizing as they moved over the keys, never once hesitant or remorseful. Brown hair covered his brow in a stylish version of a modern clean cut and dripped to the nape of his neck. His tanned jaw twitched every once in a while as she examined his face. He was handsome; it hit her hard in the gut, strikingly handsome to her. His eyes were a dark counterpart to hers matching dark bags underlining them as if to mock her in similarity. She inhaled sharply as her womanly sensibilities and teenage hormones won her over.

The now whispering-angrily girls kept staring at her. She would angrily stare at herself if she could. Every boy she had ever liked ended in tragedy. Only speaking to her classmates when absolutely necessary was an absolute rule. Keeping her protective walls up like her comforter at night, drawn over her head to protect her from outside intrusion she now kept out people like imaginary monsters. Once she had confronted a boy, a nice boy with black hair and green eyes. An American exchange student, one time she had talked to him. And he had thought she was joking when she asked him to the dance.

Her fantasies died that night as she cried unabashedly, her mother holding her until she needed to sleep before her shift. Hours after mom had left, Kisara lay shaking in her bed, skipping school. Tears no longer fell and anger quietly stepped into the void that sadness left. Anger would not betray her, anger fueled her, and anger kept out other feelings. Someone like her would never know another's touch, she would never find love, she would never have a _boyfriend_, a husband, a lover.

Blushing under her frail skin she looked down at her notebook, willing her feeling into submission. She inhaled deeply through her nose and breathed out through her mouth, reminding herself that she could not quit this early. This was not optional, and not easy, but this was _mandatory_. This was step one on day one of the rest of her life.

Her time here would be worth it and her feelings would be controlled. She had P.E. in three more class periods. Perhaps she could run since it always helped to clear her head. Sometimes she felt like she could outrun the stares, or her feelings. Inhaling again she focused and began to scribble little dragons in her notebook. Her ears focused on his typing and she soothed herself knowing she had scared him off.

The bell rang after what seemed like eternity and she headed off to history, making sure to get out of the door last, so everyone was in front of her and she was back at advantage again, taking larger steps towards her next challenge.


	3. Small victories

Thank you for all the reviews and critique, I really appreciate your time reading this and responding. I own nothing but the plot! Thanks! ~Raz0rs

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**Chapter three. Small victories.**

_It never got old_, she thought sarcastically as she sat down for her fifth class of the day. Every first day of each class professors passed out syllabuses and told the class to read over them and then work quietly. The last two classes were at least exciting for her, however. The first was a design class based mainly in theory, which was honestly more review than new, and the second was her advanced digital media workshop, followed by a study period. A good way to end the day at least, if she survived until the end she'd able to do what she wanted and relax in a familiar territory, if different setting. Rewarding in a way, the small victories.

The school had a fantastic computer lab, full of the newest macs available and even some pc's with high-end render engines hanging out in the corner. There was a drawing tablet, the expensive kind where you could draw directly on the screen, and when she logged into the desk she was assigned she almost awed at the system's specs. Getting lost in reading in the power of the computers she going to be working with for the next two years she all but smiled, they put her macbook pro to shame. Controlling her face and focusing with sharp intent she realized she had drown out the ringing of the passing period bells.

Once to signal the end of class and once to signal the start of the other, the door opened and she side-eyed the on-comers suspiciously. Two boys walked in and proceeded to the opposite of her, followed by a short chubby redhead. The professor was next, flicking the lights down as he walked to his desk. This effectively rendered the next person in the doorframe appropriately backlit and ominous, toting his briefcase with a stride that seemed almost nonchalant about his clear superiority. It took her a moment, as he sat down three computers in front of her to recognize it was the typing boy from before. Her eyes adjusted slowly as sometimes she had problems with low-lighting and she realized he had pulled out his laptop and had began typing away again with effortless mastery. The angle of the computers made it so his back was half turned to her and that was more than fine. Instinctively she curled herself further into the wall behind her, wondering about the odd layout.

Two rows of computers along the north and south walls, six on each with a small central pod of four computers with dual-screens contrived for digital art majors. The redhead girl had claimed a central seat with the graphics tablet. The other two boys were in front of the pcs on the opposite wall from her. In front of the middle pod the professor's desk sat with a digital projection screen behind him, his own laptop pulled out and set up he connected cords quickly.

Though she would be more comfortable perhaps in the back corner of the pc row, she preferred mactinosh's retina color display for her modeling work, even if mister im too important to adhere to social boundaries was three seats in front of her. Perhaps that was it, she glowered to herself; he was too good for the rest of the world to look away after the initial stares. Most people would stare and then advert their eyes after 10 agonizingly long seconds or so, and then flicker their eyes back when she wasn't looking. But that only made her hyper aware of everyone's eyes, not just theirs.

Kisara narrowed eyes in a vain attempt to read the laptop screen of the typing boy. What could he possibly be working on that was so unstoppably important? He seemed like his laptop was more on an extension of himself than a mere tool, and his absolute focus was intriguing.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the professor asked her politely to close the door behind her. She rose quickly, pulling the door shut and slipping back into her seat in a now much-darker computer lab.

"Thank you." The professor said and she nodded curtly in response, leaning back against the wall behind her and laying her head against the doorframe. Her chosen computer to her right, and wall to her back seemed a fair compromise. "Hello, it's very nice to see you all here, and I can't say I'm not extremely happy to have you as my students." The typing boy paused and flipped down his now extra-bright screen, paying attention to the grey haired man with the same intense stare he had given her earlier in the day. She made a mental note of this while without realizing how much attention she was attaching to this stranger.

"It is my honor this semester to be your professor and help you all towards your individual goals. This is more of an open forum and independent study than a traditional class structure. I know without a doubt all of you gifted individuals will make use of this new lab without needing much of my help. However, I would like you to outline what you intend to be doing with this class and keep a log or journal so I have some way to let the school know of your progress." He paused and smiled and the pc boys chuckled lightly. "If there is any way that I may be of assistance please let me know. You can call me Vincent or Mr. Norton if you want, either is fine." His accent made sense as she placed his name, English or American, she couldn't be sure. Pausing, he scanned the class, looking at each person with a smile, Kisara included without any lingering or visible signs her appearance unnerved him. She liked him immediately for his honest intent and discretion.

"Now, as some of you who were here last year probably noticed our new rendering engines in rear of the room; fully powered and linked to each of your systems. Be sure to share their RAM amongst yourselves, don't be a hog or you'll defeat their purpose." Another light chuckle, this time joined by the redhead. "Thank you again, Mr. Kaiba for your generous donation to our school." He bowed to the typing boy who nodded in dismissal, smirking as he did so.

Kisara's stomach dropped out quickly and she felt dizzy, experiencing an intense case of tunnel vision quickly followed by the nauseating reality of her situation. She barely spoke enough to have foot-in-mouth moments, but now she was having an "I want to kick myself in the ass for my stupidity moment." She had not only stared down the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company that specialized in exactly the type of work she wanted to do, but also probably offended him beyond a shadow of redemption with her arrogantly agitated attitude. Hiding the blush behind her hands the professors words were lost to her as she stared intensely at the back of Seto Kaiba's head.

It was all her fault. She should have read the stupid magazines she and her mother labeled "trashy gossip" or "girly gunk." The ones with celebrities, make-up tips and ways to "get your man hot." Even her mother's design magazines would mention Kaiba Corp from time to time. Certainly she could have seen a photo of him, maybe she had without realizing it. Her mother's friend Vivian had gotten her the interview after all, why didn't Viv tell her that the legendary Kaiba went to domino? Why didn't Kisara know that? Why the ever-living fuck was this happening?

She nearly sobbed in her remorseful anger, now simply peering with one eye through her fingers, drawing into herself in an attempt to become invisible. Why couldn't this freaking skin coloration grant her camouflage like a chameleon? She had an interview with his company on Saturday, five days from now. Four agonizingly long school days of awkwardness intensified to the extreme. Her insides raged against her rational, her pride overwhelming her desire to follow her dreams.

She would back out of it as soon as she got home, she simply call the lady who set up her interview and tell her she found something else. Then, later, she'd bury herself in books until she forgot her error. Maybe mom still had some of that brandy she liked in the liquor cabinet, surely she could Google how to pick a lock it, couldn't be that hard. She still had some of the sleeping pills from the doctor, maybe she could just sleep through the weekend and not—

"You're shaking." His voice was like ice. Quiet and smooth to not interrupt his classmates but with a force that commanded attention and respect. She looked up to see him turned to her, leaned back in the rolling chair resting his head on two fingers of his right hand as if owned the place, which she assumed, he probably did in some way. One of his long legs crossed over the other, his ankle resting on a thin knee. She noted a black sock peeking between the material of his trousers and his shoe. Designer down to the last detail. His maids or servant team must pick out his daily fashions, probably including subtle additions to boast of wealth to his otherwise common high school attire.

Her legs were drawn up to her chest in a very unladylike fashion, chind resting on pink knees, eyes still hidden behind her fingers and betraying tears threatened to fall from her eyes. He was right, her hands were trembling. Slowly she dropped her legs down, one at a time and then lowered her hands into her lap, forcing her heart rate to slow and refusing to break eye contact. He posed an unplanned challenge, and she hated not being prepared. Her whole life had been preparation for any onslaught on unsavory onlookers and those who would kidnap her on the street. Her mom had even insisted on her taking basic karate when she was younger since she traveled alone for the most part.

Racing through needless thoughts and trying to some kind of intelligent coherent response, she racked her brain for all the snippets she had read about him. Cold, merciless and calculating with an extreme intolerance for weakness, CEO of the largest Japanese virtual imaging company since he was barely out of his childhood. And, of course, what was she showing right now? Disgusting weakness.

She sat up straighter and tilted her chin up, willing the pulse that beat rhythms in her brain to slow. Billionaire and genius, an enigma, an idol and a champion duelist, and also, somehow slipping between her active brain and common sense, student of domino high. Still was at a disadvantage she knew she needed to speak, less he gain the upper ground. "I didn't have much appetite at lunch, my blood sugar might be low." The lie sounded way less believable as it tumbled from her tongue than it did in her head. Cursing inwardly she schooled her face into what she hoped was a polite smile. She had sought out the farthest table to chow down on the remainder of "I'm sorry for your loss" sympathy meals.

His smirk grew, followed by a small laugh. Was he more handsome stone-faced whislt glaring her down or smirking at her abashed explanation? The accursed thought drifted through her head even as she tried in vain to banish it into oblivion. It was his presence that awed her, relaxed and watching her. An alpha wolf amongst his pack, in complete control of his surroundings without even a hint of doubt of his undeniable all engrossing swagger. Her mouth felt dry and hands threatened to betray her so she cleaned them into fists almost completely forgetting the others in the room, the redhead had headphones, the professor chatting with the pc guys.

Breathing out she opened her mouth to say something else but her beat her too it, shifting in his chair. "I wanted to…" He broke off his stare as if the words he was searching for were alien to him. "Talk about earlier, about homeroom." Yes, definitely foreign to a man of his standing. He was more used to barking orders than _talking_ about things surely. She wasn't used to talking much more to another person beside than paying at the grocery store or returning a library book. Polite discussion escaped her survival instincts.

"Oh." She said simply, her words a genuine response of her surprise. Even the little she knew about the CEO screamed he wouldn't be the type to bring up her misstep without an overbearing tone of retaliation for the intrusion in his controlled presence. Her insides slowly uncurled and she relaxed a tad, seeing that he willingly breeched the awkward barrier with threat-less words.

"You … remind me of someone … I know." He spilled out finally with a finality to back up unsure sentence structure that left him staring, studying her with the same intensity from earlier. But somehow it felt less intimidating and more sincere. As if his words held truth and not simply a cover for his coarseness. His eyes held honesty in their dark colbalt depths, and somehow it slowed Kisara's heart and uncurled her fists. He was not playing her for some cruel joke, or quizzing her on her heritage, he seemed genuine. Whether his statement held truth or not she knew she would figure in time, but this odd offer of explanation seemed to sink in without further pressing. It was a weird feeling, a fluttering in her stomach. Fear and confusion and strange, alien attraction to this powerful man mixed into something odd in the bowels of her stomach. He was beyond someone like her's reach, and his fascination was simply attributed to someone else who shared one of her odd features.

"I never sang for the blue man group. They don't allow women." She couldn't help the sarcasm dripping from her tongue but a genuine smile pulled at her lips as the bad joke tumbled from them. "And no, I don't try to look like this. I'm not really into the cosplay scene." The second at least, elicited a slight smirk. It was the first time she realized with some feeling of oddness, that she had actually said something about her appearance to someone without anger or intensity in her voice. Her hands tightened again in her lap and suddenly that thought scared her as much as it intrigued her.

She couldn't break her gaze from him, and deep within her inner working some girlish devilish disgusting hope twisted her common sense. She should have stomped itout at the source and stuck to the path that had kept her alive and whole throughout the rest of her life. No socializing, no letting others in; she was alone in this world and she needed no one. No one but her mother, a tiny voice echoed from some uncertain nerve ending in her brain. Shutting it out she braced herself for his coming retort.

But instead she was left with a simple smirking nod of acknowledgement and "Hmm." He swiveled his chair back to face his laptop and soon the familiar ticking of his keys resumed. Dismissed, was the word that floated to the top of her mind. Dismissed but at least he has somewhat made an attempt at fixing the foray of formalities. Good enough, she guessed, and probably the best she was going to get.

She slowly returned herself to her desk and pulled her headphones out of her bag, popping one into each ear and attempting to ignore the CEO's presence to her left. She opened up z brush, her favorite modeling software and pulled out her notebook, picking the dragon she doodled in homeroom to practice her hand at sculpting. After a few minutes she slowly relaxed into her work and stopped side-eyeing Kaiba.

Drifting out into her music and the modeling material she sculpted the created creature with relative ease, molding arms and legs, along with ridges of spines down a sharp back. Once her task of creating the base form was done she stretched and caught the reflection of his glance on her screen, her slight shift in position allowing his face to bounce off the monitor. By the time she looked over he was already assisting his computer in whatever it demanded. She thought it was an outlook inbox, full of unread emails, but she couldn't be sure. A mystery filed away to wonder upon later. Meticulously she began modeling scales onto the beast of her creation. It wasn't until she saved her progress that she realized class was nearing an end.

Quickly she packed up her things and was out the door as soon as the bell rang, forgetting to shut her computer down. She needed to catch the subway as soon as possible to get back to her place in Shinjuku. Leaving her headphones in she let her long legs lead her quickly through the school crowds and out down into the town, past the courtyard and to the subway. Sooner than she could be glad for she was reopening her door, surrendering to the security of her flat. Breathing deep she sighed in true relief and collapsed on the coach, the sheer effort of controlling her temper at stress finally catching up to her. She didn't remember drifting off.

...

As Kaiba rose to his feet he glanced at the girl's screen. The uneasiness he had at hearing her name, the amount of effort needed to purge himself of the feeling in his gut, and the strange way his mind kept drifting back to her all hit him hard, right in the center of his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He strained to draw another breath, his eyes unable to look away from her near-perfect model of a blue eyes white dragon. It was a coincidence; he had seen a lightning dragon keychain hanging off of her purse. It was simply that she liked duel monsters, and was playing around with modeling. Or maybe she was doing it because she knew it was his favorite card, though her attitude toward him spoke of her unwillingness to do him any courtesies.

It couldn't be that the midget and his geek squad's babbling about ancient fairy tales was actually beginning effecting him. He didn't believe in past lives or hocus-pocus, he had fought against its stupidity since the start. She may bare an uncanny existence to the Kisara from the past he saw in his visions during the battle city tournament, and the same name. Yet that didn't make it fate, or destiny. He was the master of both. He was his own man, not some pawn in some three thousand year old mumbo-jumbo plan.

Snarling, he turned from the computer and quickly exited the school to his awaiting limo, the ever-faithful Roland inside astride with his younger brother, Mokuba. Curtly he greeted them, and soon Kaiba allowed his brother's babbling about his new classmates to filter through his unfaithful thoughts and kindly place them somewhere deep in his subconscious. Kaiba Corporation came into view and the young CEO sighed, relaxing and grabbing his backpack with a change of clothes inside, swinging it over his shoulder and toting his loyal briefcase with the opposite side. Ready to let meetings, talk of game development and programming soothe his distracted mind. He would worry about the girl later, much later if he had it his way.

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Slowly working on putting together the pieces of the plot, which I've got all mapped out. Thanks again for the R&amp;R it really encourages me to keep going!


	4. I dream because I can meet you in dreams

iCraft: thank you so much for your continued support! Kisara's background will be slowly unfolded throughout the story, and you'll hopefully come to understand her better throughout the chapters. We all have the little devil of hope don't we? Heh.

Evee90: hey thank you so much! I'm trying my best to make a different kisara, since I have read many of the same (though not bad!) passive versions. I can't wait to see what you think of her interaction with the geek squad. ;) And yes this is post battle City, return to domino and normal life…sort of.

Shadowwalker93: I am hoping it goes to a place that interests you!

Burgomeister: that's such a huge compliment thank you kindly!

much love for reading and reviewing, and many thanks. i own nothing but the plot -raz0rs

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**Chapter four: I dream because I can meet you in dreams.**

The nights were longer than he remembered, and the days drug on like a bad sunburn he wished he could peel off and be rid of constant itching. It had been like this since the end of his tournament and return to daily life, he felt anxious. School was a waste of time, a simple distraction from running his company which needed his full attention.

Mokuba hadn't stopped chattering at him since he got in the car, and insisted upon hearing all about his first day. "They are the same every year Mokuba." was his simple response. His younger brother scowled at him with an annoyance, dismissing the idea of prodding Seto for the time being. There was no way he was going to let Mokuba in on his thoughts. They had been racing the whole late afternoon and evening. No matter how much work he plowed through nothing seemed to topple the obelisk of his attention—Kisara. She was undeniably intriguing to him. Her blush had illuminated pale cheeks when he had addressed her; when she heard his name. He wrote it off simply as his fame, and her shame and not that she was having the same _suspicions_ as him. It would be ludicrous to think the latter.

After retreating to his bedroom he took a long shower, trying to scrub his skin clean of the haunting vision of his supposed former self, holding a white haired blue-eyed girl's body. _Crying_ over said girl, begging her to stay and love him as he loved her. Him, Seto Kaiba, crying over _a girl_, was a disgustingly insipid thought. Laughing out loud at the notion he stepped out of the shower and into clean pajamas. It was only happenstance that her appearance was nearly identical, and no matter the odd intensity of his magnetism to her it didn't have anything to do with destiny. The thought had only occurred because Yugi and his cult of stupidity had forced it into his head for far too long with their farfetched fantasies of ancient Egypt.

He set the alarm on his phone and readjusted himself amongst his bedding, slipping an arm underneath a pillow with a slight grunt. His body ached all over from tension he didn't realize he had carried. Even his trained briefcase hand, used to the weight of toting his belongings betrayed him, seemingly clutching too tightly during the day. His back was sore along his lower spine and his legs and knees felt tight and over-extended.

It took an hour of tossing and turning to be comfortable, and it was well past midnight when sleep finally took him. He drifted off into a hopefully blank unconsciousness.

But forces beyond his control would not let him off that easily.

There she stood, as if waiting for him. The girl from Egypt, from all the weird visions he had had after the end of battle city. Her hair was a blinding shimmer of white against the reflection of the sun and sand, her eyes like lasers burning into him, whispering his name like a prayer. He reached out to her unsurely, but she grabbed his hand, raising him to his feet. There was an undeniable intensity to her presence, unlike his previous dreams where she had seemed blurry and distant. When her hand mad contact it sent shivers up his arm with an odd combination of delicate softness and certain strength. He stood and released her arm, his own coiling back from the shock of reality of the contact.

He dusted off his knees, realizing he was wearing one of his modern outfits, black slacks and a shirt to match. Normally these dreams dressed him to match the time he intruded on, but not this one. It was different, he knew somehow that this dream was different. She was still staring, waiting, unwavering. "Hello Seto." Her voice was soft and strong at the same time, a cold rain that that wouldn't quit on a clear day.

"K-Kisara?" He stuttered out unsurely, not trusting himself to his normal egocentric strut and instead allowing the small, but still present unsure honesty to speak in it's place.

She nodded in response. "Walk with me, will you?" She offered her hand again, and he took it, not letting go this time. They were outside of some temple walls, and their feet made no sound in the sand. Seto couldn't look away from her. She stood half a head shorter than him and didn't flinch at his steadfast stare. A half smile curled her lips, so fair against skin that nearly glowed in the streaming sunlight miraculously un-burnt. He realized she knew he was watching her, but instead of addressing it she let it pass without inquiry. Everything about her was calm and pristine, and her bare feet, so delicate slipped onto the stairs of the temple soundlessly as she shoes clicked against the stone.

She led them both to stand in the central space, in between pillars of ancient granite carved with lotus blossoms and hieroglyphics beyond counting. There was a fountain in the center with a statue of a hippopotamus, water streaming from its nostrils and opened mouth, pooling on a dish on its back. Lilypads drifted in the surrounding water, small blossoms floating along with their leafy counterparts.

She released him and sat on the stairs next to the fountain, folding her legs under her with delicate grace. The rough spun shapeless linen tunic she wore could have been but a burlap sack, but her graceful form and delicate curves made it look like something out of Chanel's spring catalogue. Slowly he sat down besides her, his eyes taking in the sight around him. They appeared to be the only ones there; in this quiet dreamscape there were soft sounds of wind and splashing water. It seemed tranquil, quiet and peaceful. He breathed deeply and let his hands rest firmly on the granite steps, warm from sun and textured with a fine grain. He felt comfortable; everything here was soothing to his soul, including her company.

"Do you truly forget this place?" She asked after a moment, hands folding together, only turning to him when his face showed obvious question. He could loose himself in the sharpness of her eyes, assured that the color did not exist in nature. He could pick out its hex code in one of his computer programs, he could liken it to some stone or flower but nothing did them justice. It wasn't just the color, but the intensity and depth that held him firm, not allowing him to look elsewhere. "We met here often before. It was a temple to your namesake once; to Set."

Something about this place did seem safe to him. His sense betrayed him, allowing him to be the person he only was around Mokuba; he was sometimes able drop the persona of his ego, and let down all the barriers he drew up to protect the brothers Kaiba and their company. He was a teenage billionaire, a programming prodigy and inventor, a walking symbol of the power of youth and undeniable strength of mind and willpower after all. He owned his image, and he acted his ego. But sometimes, he was a seventeen-year-old throwing pillows at his brother, laughing at a stupid butt-joke and making microwave noodles at 1 in the morning. Sometimes meant only around Mokuba, not even Roland saw this side of him.

"I don't remember." He managed, the words tumbling from him in a raspy whisper, as if sand had lodged in his throat. She smiled at him and his stomach churned with an odd endorphin-driven sensations. The feeling reminded him of when he crushed his enemies in duels, or when he fixed the bad marker that threw off the coding of his newest program. When had made a good business decision, finished a long project. But it was more than simple… happiness? He guessed at the unfamiliar word.

"It's alright. You have been lost for a long while, and you've always been the stubborn type." She drew her legs to her chest and folded arms around them, peering at him through white bangs that blew about softly in the warm wind. "At least that seems to have carried over to your reincarnation." He couldn't help the narrowing of his eyebrows, to which she merely laughed at, a high-pitched sound that reminded him of wind chimes and small birds. "I know you don't believe in any of this." Her smile lingered as she stared at him, her pose a near mirror of the girl he had met in the computer lab, legs drawn into herself with arms crossed over. But this Kisara regarded him with ease and familiarity that spoke of a deep intimacy, not with the agitation and fear the current one had shown him in their brief encounters.

"She is very different than I was…. I guess you are different than my Seto. But your hearts are the same. I would know your ka anywhere." She reached a hand out and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear. When her fingers made contact with his skin he leaned into her hand, familiar and warm. Like the mother's hug he had long forgotten, or the lover's embrace he had never known. His mind rolled with questions, confusion, and doubt. He kept his eyes closed as her hand drew away, and the slightest movement of his head followed the loss of her touch.

Everything was so serene here, the sun, the sand. Even the wind that blew the smell of nectar and baked granite tiles sunk deep into his mind with sweet serenity. He opened his eyes to her, the fluttering feeling still intoxicating him in an odd haze, his lips parted to speak, to attempt to express what he was thinking, but she beat him to speaking. "Help her Seto. She needs it. Our ka is strong, the soul of the blue eyes, the light that she bears, it can be too much. Her ba and ka are not in the balance that I maintained; her soul is not as pure, her heart not as innocent." He swayed slightly; suddenly realizing her face was becoming blurry. "We don't get second chances often, and you deserve one. Don't let her go, don't let her run…." She all but whispered as the dream faded into to a dark blur.

Seto sat straight up in his bed with a sharp gasp, his lungs heaving and his eyes flying around his surroundings frantically searching for familiarity. His hands shook slightly as he grasp his duvet with fever as he attempted to slow his racing mind. It took longer than it should have for his breathing to regulate and his pulse to slow. It was 3:33 in the morning, exactly halfway through the witching hour. He remembered he had read once that it was the most magic time of day, the easiest to access spiritual energies. _Bullshit_, his rational spat back, in direct objection to his sweat slicked forehead.

Drawing a long breath, he laid back down, rolling on his side and staring at the clock. He pulled the duvet up to his ear even though he was still damp with sweat. Forcing his eyes shut, try as he might he couldn't block her out of his mind no matter what he focused on. Their mannerisms were similar, and their appearance all but the same. But their attitudes were as different as water and fire. Maybe he was over-thinking it, he didn't even know the girl.

She had spat fire at him in homeroom, but to be fair he did stare at her, something she was probably overly aware of due to her elusive appearance. But when he had tried to smooth over his faux pas she had balked at him like a beaten dog. She was almost worthy of his attention, almost. But he was spending way to long lingering on a nightmare and a whisper. Yugi would probably he thrilled beyond reasoning if he ever dared admit his most recent line of thoughts; just more imaginary nonsense. He smirked, his breathing slowly at last when that thought passed through his mind, and finally again he found sleep.

Blissful black oblivion, free of intrusions into the blankness of his much-needed sleep.

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back to kisara's POV next chapter, and back to another oh-so-exciting day of school. :


	5. Never been afraid of Storms

thank you for all the kind reviews! sorry for the gap in chapters, i sprained my wrist and have been out of commission for a bit. i own nothing but the plot. -raz0rs.

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**Chapter five: Never been afraid of storms.**

Kisara couldn't remember how she had gotten to her feet, much less why she was waking up, covered in cold sweat and shaking. Her first instinct had brought her down the hall to mom's room, and she opened the door with her brain still a blur from the confusion and fear that lingers after nightmares. Twisting the doorknob she pushed it open and blinked into the moonlight, reality washing over her along with the bright beams, waking her sleeping mind fully. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, willing her shaking limbs to still as she looked into the room.

Mom wasn't there. The sheets were a mess from how she had left them, makeup piled on her vanity with a couple dresses laid on the back of it's delicate porcelain white chair, as if she would come back any minute to tidy up. Her grand four-post bed looked more massive than ever, the same shade of off-white, simple and elegant in a French style Kisara was sure she could recall the name of if her brain was fully aware. The cold silver moon hauntingly illuminated the space and made her skin crawl, giving it a hollow metal feeling. Even the floral lace drapes cast ghastly shadows onto the floor, threatening to crawl towards her.

Taking a step backwards, Kisara slowly shut the door and walked the fourteen steps back to her room, closing her own and sliding down the back of it to settle into a lanky pile of limbs, the back of her head nearly bumping as she leaned it backwards.

She started to remember why she was so shook up, her dreams slowly bubbling back to her growing consciousness; there was sand, warm and white against her bare feet. She hated sand, the beach and sun were a constant threatening sunburn and the ocean terrified her. Scowling and furrowing her brow with closed eyes, she remembered staring at the mystifying beauty of the vast blueness from inside the hotel room. The ocean was gorgeous, deeply terrifyingly unknowingly gorgeous, 2 miles from where her and her mother had stayed at in Osaka for a fashion week premiere. Beyond the sand she remembered a temple, something Egyptian with long carved pillars engraved with hieroglyphics. There was a large pool in the middle of the structure, with a fountain with water so calm and clear she could easily see her uninterrupted reflection.

Her eyes popped open and subconsciously her eyes sought out her own mirror. The girl in the reflecting pool, it wasn't her, but it was somehow; her eyes were different, her jaw more tight, her muscles more toned. The other her had skin less translucently pale and sordid, as if glowing internally among the rippling desert heat, her expression was serene and controlled. There was sureness to her movements as she had mimicked Kisara when she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, icy cold eyes meeting their mirror in the pool. She had opened her mouth to confront her mirror image, but nothing had come out, as if her voice had dried with the sand. And it was then she had heard it, her name, whispered like a prayer into her ear. Quickly, she turned to see who was addressing her—and promptly been pulled back into reality by a crack of thunder.

Swallowing, she eyed her present-day reflection warily, making sure it did not betray her; holding up a hand slowly and flexing it, watching her own tendons move in the shadow of the mirror, lightning illuminating her room, dancing with the thunder in it's rhythmic song.

She had never been afraid of storms. Slowly, the coat of sweat on her brow was drying and as she pulled herself up, breaking eye contact with her mirror-self as she crawled back into bed. It was freezing, even though fall had just started to settle in, and she wasn't sure if it was the memory of the warmth of the sand or the storm had caused her to draw her blankets up high over her head.

"The thunder chases the lightning, and its tears are rain. For the thunder loves the lightning, but he can never catch her". She whispered to her pillow, unaware until she felt a tear slide down her face she had started to cry. Silently she sobbed, and turned over to her side, towards the wall and shoved her pillows and stuffed tiger into a long line, wrapping her arms and legs around them and slowly settling in. A poor substitute for a mother's calming hug in the middle of the night for a scared child, but a substitute no less.

It was her own fault for taking a nap, she thought irately, eyeing the clock that read 3:44 am. She should have just stayed up, finished her homework and then gone to bed, to get herself used to her school schedule. But instead she had crashed as soon as she got through the door. It was that _stupid_ smug look on his face as he had talked to her, almost laughing at her panic. There was no way she could get out of this up coming interview, and no way she would bow down to the almighty Seto Kaiba just because he was insanely gorgeous with perfect eyes and hair—no. No, no, no. Would not, could not, no. She would not fall for another boy who would just break her heart. Wouldn't get her expectations up just to be let down again and left alone. Mom wasn't there to hold her when she cried, or soothe her anger with calming shushes and gentle pats.

She would probably not even see the CEO; she'd just be another one of a thousand of employees. He wouldn't even notice her name on his payroll, he had nrushed her off after what she had gauged was the closest thing she'd get to an apology out of someone like him. It would probably be the closest thing she got out of a conversation she ever got to him for the rest of her life.

After waking she had finished up the small amount of classwork she had and then dug into researching the young billionaire. He didn't smile in photos, his eyes were cold and hard, deep blue and constantly under creased brows. The only thing that hinted at his humanity were the dark blue bags under his eyes. Even the photos that he allowed to be taken showed no emotion other than absolute control and design, as if he pulled the strings to the entire system. And that intimidated the shit out of her. Yet, after a while she spotted a subtle a small evidence of kindness. He was also an orphan, he and his brother Mokuba, who was almost always at his side in all of the photos she had dug through. There was one of him, in an amazingly reprehensible purple trench coat, getting into his limo and keeping Mokuba behind him, allowing the younger to slide in while he eyed the cameraman with annoyed hostility. It was as if to protect his younger brother, a quality about him Kisara couldn't scoff at. For those abandoned by the people who gave them life, family was all but absolute importance in whatever form you could find it.

She had screamed herself hoarse and beaten her knuckles bloody on the glass between the operating room and herself as she watched her mother loose her battle to cancer. The nurses had drug her away but she had fought, growling like a wild animal and clawing onto the window like her arms were made of iron, refusing to leave, refusing to believe that they just gave up on mom. Curses, scalding hot words burned from her mouth with fiery passionate anger, the nurses almost understanding, the doctors eyes _almost_ filled with forgiving pity. But in the end, so typically, they had sedated her, laid her in a hospital bed and prescribed her anti-anxiety medicine and an intense sleeping pill to help her "through the pain."

Scoffing at the memory she curled arms around her stuffed tiger tighter. The sedative had kept her calm until she had gotten home. It took a week to settle mom's affairs, and longer to keep child services from attempting to take her away. Her aunt had finally done something for her estranged sister and unrelated niece; backed Kisara's ability to take care of herself.

The flat was now hers, along with the small fortune her mother had left her, enough to keep the place and pay off the funeral bills. But money wouldn't last forever, and that's why she needed to get this job. She needed to swallow her pride, fears, and inhibitions and just climb the next rung on the ladder, take the next step and keep going.

Lightning flashed against across her window, and the thunder called closer, chasing his lover through the sky. Kisara inhaled deeply and tried to make herself relax, she had to be up in three hours. The thunder rumbled mournfully and she smiled slightly to herself. It was a story her mom had told her, of thunder and lightning. A tragic love story, but one her mom always used to instill courage and strength within her adopted daughter's heart.

One day you'll catch the lightning, and she'll be more than you ever hoped for.

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A/N: i don't know if i made up the story about the lightning and thunder or if my brain subcounciously sourced it from somewhere else. I am really in love with the idea, and well lightning just happens to tie in nicely with our beautiful blue eyes. Hope you guys enjoyed, please R&amp;R!-raz0rs


	6. Unwarranted Alliances

thank you to evee90 and icraft for your support and reviews. super appreciate it! i own nothing but the plot. ~raz0rs

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**Chapter six: Unwarranted Alliances.**

Dawn came quickly, the subway quicker, and soon she was walking into homeroom, bag slung over shoulder, headphones still pumping through her playlists and blocking out the sounds of the morning commotion. She had made sure to get there early, and reclaimed her battle station in the back right corner of the room. No one was there yet, it was a good 20 minutes until people would start showing up, and for her this was advantageous. She could set herself up for the day, ready her arsenal of notebooks and get some inventory of sketches drafted. The sketches would serve as models she wanted to make before her interview on Saturday.

The blue eyes she had sculpted yesterday in her independent art study had gone well, so maybe she should model some more dragons like red eyes. Or perhaps, even, her favorite card, Zoa; a fiendish creature she had always had an attraction to.

Duel monsters to her was like magic the gathering, or Pokémon, she always used whatever monsters she thought were coolest. What was the appeal if she couldn't use awesome creatures to crush her opponents? But she had never been skilled at any card game, including poker, and her mother didn't have time to play with her. So she had collected the cards simply because she liked the artwork, and it gave her ideas for modeling and making her fantasy worlds.

She doodled a humanoid Kaiser seahorse in her notebook, figuring she needed to model some humanoid cards as well to diversify her portfolio. A flash of movement caught her eye and she glanced up to see the punk-hair kid and his trio of faithful friends following him into the room. Clicking her music on her phone down she quickly resumed her doodling and rested her head back on her hand, letting her hair cascade down over her notebook to cover it from prying eyes. A habit she had had since her elementary school years that protected her from onlookers.

It wasn't until she felt a tap on the shoulder that she realized they had been trying to get her attention. Somehow they migrated over to her desk, she hissed a small "tch" trying to control her irritation. She had turned her music down to be polite, but her headphones were clearly visible. Wasn't that enough of a social queue to indicate the desire for space? Clearly not to these four fools. She slowly lifted her head to see the short punk, with the crazy yellow bangs and pink tipped black hair. He sat at the desk in front of her, smile plastered on his face, big hopeful purple eyes radiating cheerfulness.

She hated him nearly instantly; it was something about his smile. The girl stood next to him, amplifying his obvious lack of height. The blonde sat across from her and the brunette in front of him, the other three smiling as well. Who could possibly be this cheery this early? Pulling the headphones down, she addressed him with the most polite "Yes?" she could muster. She had skipped the coffee this morning; it never mixed well with her stomach when anxiety was gnawing at her.

"Hello Kisara! I'm Yugi, this is Tea, Tristan and Joey!" He named them in order pointing at each person who smiled in turn. "Welcome to Domino High!" He all but beamed. She had an urge to bite him, just to crack that perky little smile of his. She kept her face in check and forced a smile, nodding politely and glancing back down at her notebook. Perhaps they'd get the hint.

"Nice to meet you!" Tea, the brunette with a voice like pink bubblegum popping added. The other two nodded their agreement, smiling ear to ear.

"Thank you." Kisara croaked out, slowly becoming aware more students were filtering into the room.

"We just wanted to say hello and invite you to hang out with us at my grandpa's game shop! We have practice duels all the time if you like duel monsters, and all sorts of other games." His genuine assertiveness made her suspicious, and her past experiences with making friends always ended poorly. Either she was some sort of trophy to show off, some pun of some prank, or just a token team member to a club she didn't know she joined. There was safety for Kisara in avoiding all of those circumstances.

"Yeah! Yugi's the boni-fied champion of duel monsters, aren't you Yug?" The blonde laughed, a thick American accent obvious in his speech. The way he grinned and looked to the others for support reminded her of a Labrador looking for a treat after performing a trick. A smile pinched the corner of her mouth as she watched Yugi blush. "What yug? Gotta be proud of yourself sometimes! Plus you said—"

"Yeah, yeah ok Joey!" The brunette cut off the blonde with a sharp smile and he all but curled his tail between his legs. _Golden retriever perhaps, or some sort of mix_. Part of her wanted to know what he was going to say, but the logical half of her brain didn't care.

"Do you like duel monsters Kisara?" Tea asked genuinely and Kisara was almost positive she could smell the artificial pink dye in her overly genuinely friendly smile.

"Uh, kind of I guess." She stated flatly, once more eyeing her notepad, her crossed legs beginning to kick in an anxious manner. It was beginning to feel like she was a cornered wounded creature. What did these kids want from her, anyway?

"You should come by the shop then!" Yugi beamed at her again and she clenched her fist in her lap, wringing the hem of her skirt and trying to smile. "We'd love to have you over, in fact we could all teach you how to play."

"That's right, even this bozo here placed fourth in the battle city tournament!" The one called Tristan laughed, punching joey in the shoulder, he scowled in response.

"Well maybe… I have a lot of work to do before the weekend…" She trailed off, looking over at the wall, every ounce of her trying to control her urge to go off on them and scare them away for good. They were just trying to be friendly, so she should be civil, but she had already decided not to play the usual reindeer games of friendship here. School, work and home. She'd get a cat if she wanted companionship.

"Sure, well maybe we could eat with you at lunch? You're second block right? We could even teach you the history of the game." Tea spoke again and Yugi nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, maybe, and like I said I have work to do…" She trailed off again, trying to think of a courteous way to end the conversation and get them away from her. The classroom was filling up quickly and her time to plan her day was being taken away by the friendship brigade.

"You should come to the museum with us tonight! They have this amazing tablet, one of the things that inspired the game, even—" Joey started and was quickly interrupted by a sharp voice that cut through the conversation like steel.

"Babbling again about your fantasies wheeler?" Seto Kaiba attacked, not evening sparing the group a sideways glance as he turned the page of a small black book. Kisara's stomach dropped out as she realized he had snuck in without her noticing. Damn, she had lost her sense of control by letting these loosers distract her with their incessant bickering. It would have been advantageous to have the high field in her mental battle against on the CEO, so that he couldn't and wouldn't sneak up on her again.

"They ain't _fantasies_ moneybags!" The blonde barked back turning halfway in the desk and nearly knocking it over, like a mutt defending scraps.

"Oh, excuse me, I meant delusions. Like your _delusion_ that you belonged in _my_ tournament." Kaiba shot back without moving. It reminded Kisara of a spelling bee judge dictating the usage of a word in a sentence. She couldn't hide her small smirk.

"Well explain how he placed fourth then Kaiba, and you third." Yugi shouted, his eyebrows drawn down in anger. Kisara blinked over Kaiba, from everything she had read he was all but unstoppable in his card-game empire, a master of everything he took on. And these bozos had beat him? There had to be some kind of story behind that.

"Luck of course. And I guess every dog has his day ..." He chuckled lightly, eyes never leaving the page. Kisara's smirk grew slightly larger, and she looked down quickly to hide it, her cheeks burned red under her thin skin. It seemed they shared a viewpoint on this group of geeks.

"Asshole!" Joey shot up out of his desk but Tristan quickly grabbed him and a loud— "You guys!" from Tea stopped all the movement. "That's not what we are trying to discuss here" She hissed the second part through clenched teeth. Joey rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and turned back around dolefully. All their attention seemed to zoom back in on Kisara. She was hoping they'd forgotten her in their little made-for-tv-drama. It appeared she was not so lucky, she realized and the smirk slid sideways off her face.

"So, anyway, what do you say Kisara? Would you like to see the museum with us tonight?" Yugi's questioned hopefully, followed by cheery eyes as all four of them focused on her with laser like attention.

Uneasily she cleared her throat and paused before speaking, attempting to feign courtesy. "Like I mentioned, I am really busy. Possibly another time, if I have it. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to …work." And with that, she pulled her headphones back over her ears and looked back down, hunching over her notebook and flipping the page.

She began to doodle again, not drawing anything-specific, just waiting for them to clear out, leaving her volume off to gauge their reactions.

"Good job joey." Tristan hissed as he rose to his feet.

"What? I was just trying to help." The blonde bantered back in his snarky accent, his shoes making a loud squeak as he jumped out of his desk in a overly dramatic gymnastic manner. Kisara rolled her eyes, this was insane: stupidly typically annoying insane.

"Well getting Kaiba involved certainly isn't going to help anything." Tea muttered under her breath. With a quick glance up Kisara noticed the girl's obvious disapproval written all over her face, as clear as her melodic voice.

"Either way eventually if we give her some time maybe we can convince her." Yugi whispered back to Tea, who smiled as they made their way back to the desk at the front. When she couldn't hear them anymore she changed reconnaissance tactics and studied each of them.

If she had learned one thing in her life it was that social interaction especially school was like war. In order to survive she needed preparation, tactics and advantage. Naturally, she was an ill-suited player, not physically strong she made up her lack of physique with over-compensating her intellect. Yet, that didn't end well for most protagonists, so instead of an armor of friendship and love she built her walls of stone and isolated herself. If you made no allies, no one could betray you, and if you lost all alone at least you have no one to blame but yourself; cutthroat and cold, calculating as hell but effective nevertheless, this stratagem had proven successful.

Feigning false attentiveness to her notebook, silently she collected intel. Love interest for punk kid was Tea, and comic relief had to be the blonde. And so that made the brunette man a simple side character or plot device? It was all to easy, all to analogous to her books and stories.

Leering, she brushed her hair out of her eyes, unintentionally glancing over at Kaiba, who had one way or another helped her out of this persistently annoying situation. He was rotating his trademark time-stopping stares between his book and the goon squad every couple seconds. Legendary scowl glued on his face his eyes burned like a pilot light, easily ready to click into gear and burn into them if they dared turn back his way. There was no way, in her mind at least, in fairness and reality those four had beaten Kaiba in his own tournament.

She scrawled "_battle city" _ in the corner of her notebook, reminding herself to research it later and figure out just how they had managed it.

After a while of side eyeing him she noticed he hand gone back to truly reading, and believed it was the giggling girls that had flooded back into the front of his row of desks that had driven the diversion of his attention. Fangirls, it struck her as she recalled her reading from the night before. It seemed obvious to her now as she watched them throw glances back over their shoulders, reddening from their chins to shins every time they did. She had felt some sort of pity for him when she had read about all the times girls threw themselves into his life. One girl had even attempted to break into his home. The sympathy would have been more genuine if he hadn't been so unbelievably indestructible and otherworldly. As if he had no weakness, a god walking among mere mortals. She scoffed slightly at herself, imagining him in a toga without desiring it. (At least, deliberately.)

But whatever his social life was, greek or no, it was a secret to the media and all of her research. If he had a lady in his life, he kept her as safe as he did his little brother, and out of the terrifyingly all-seeing eye of the paparazzi. The girls started shooting daggers at her when they caught her staring at them, so she passive-aggressively put her head back down and growled low in her throat, suddenly feeling an odd sense of alignment to the CEO. She broke then lead in her pencil as she scrawled armour onto the seahorse-knight, anger flooding her quickly to replace the likeness she had started seeing between her and Kaiba. She wasn't on his level, and knew she never could be, but as someone who did deal with constantly frustrating attention she could see how he felt. It was so unfair to him really, to have his whole life out on display, no privacy what so ever; people digging for information on him, and hounding him even at school. Which of course she was guilty of both, she noted with a hiss.

Embarrassment flooded her and guilt followed, she was no better than the giggle-girls. Here she was making allusions at alliances without even knowing the first thing about him she didn't gather from being an outsider peering into his life. Maybe she should apologize to him, or thank him, or something. But wouldn't that make her look even crazier than her behavior before? Or did she owe it to him for getting the friendship fools away from her? What a stupid conundrum. Her fingers flipped her page crossly, and she began a new doodle, half paying attention to what she was doing physically, lost in her own mental correspondence.

The professor walked in, greeting his students and taking attendance. She nodded when it was appropriate without paying much attention and then started making lists, trying to take her mind off the present and place it into the future, her future. So that she could eventually not have to deal with annoying problems like the feelings twisting in her gut, threatening like a tornado warning to flatten everything she had rebuilt in her life. He sat seven seats away, laptop once again in place and those long elegant fingers working the keys without any real effort. It took everything within her not to look over, to keep her head down and her focus on her work. Why did she find him so stupidly mesmerizing? He was the twister, the hurricane threatening to wipe out her foundation. He was nothing but pain to her, one way or another. It wans an eventuality, and just a matter of when. She needed to eliminate the thought, the idea, the focus. Her eyes flicked over and immediately she kicked herself for watching his hands move. What a stupid thing to be attracted to; hands.

What a stupid thought to think. Never would she ever be attractive to him, and if in some alternate universe he decided to pay her heed, he would eventually betray her like all the others. Eventually she'd find out she was just some kind of butt of some joke, or some stupid fling. The idea disgusted her and pulled the knots in her guts tighter, and brought memories of her one "ex-boyfriend" to the surface of her torrid brain. Three months of some sort of what she thought was happiness, followed quickly by seven of humility and awakening, harsh realization of her situation and social standings. If, and that was a large, IF, someone could get over her odd appearance, she was too thin, too tall and her boobs were too small. She had suggestions of curves but would never fill out a dress, and her demeanor? She laughed out loud despite herself; she was a self-loathing wreck of a woman no therapist could fix.

And that was how she had kept herself afloat, and with mom gone, she doubted anyone would see anything other than her harsh exterior, as cold as the ice her complexion reminisced.

* * *

Second part to this is in editing, this just seemed like a natural break. I bet you guys can see what's coming. heh, thanks for the r&amp;r and bearing with the overburdening character development! please let me know if any of this seems verbose or boring, i got a little wordy on this chapter. ~raz0rs


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